


Be with me always.

by spiritspell



Series: Be with me always. [1]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritspell/pseuds/spiritspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes was about to learn that falling in love wasn't always convenient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1.

If you had asked Mycroft Holmes at eighteen, 'do you think you'll ever be in love?' he would have replied with a withering look and a scathing remark which would have made you feel two feet tall. Eighteen years old and already sick to death of most of the human race. Around 98% of the people Mycroft had met had proved to be incompetent buffoons, too heavily reliant on their own feelings to get anywhere in life. Mycroft saw this almost everywhere he went, and scorned it; people driven to near madness by love. Love! What was the point in it anyway? Mycroft's father had walked out on them when Sherlock was six years old and Mycroft was scarcely a teenager, not fit to be man of the household. One day at dinner, Sherlock had looked up and asked why the lipstick on father's collar didn't match the shade of lipstick mummy wore? And that was that. Two human beings could not be in love and keep their sanity or their hearts intact. It didn't happen.

And yet, here he was. Quite in love, and quite mad. Sherlock, of course, had known he was in deep long before he knew himself.

'Mycroft I had thought better of you,' Sherlock drawled one day, seemingly indifferent but Mycroft could see the disappointment in his brother's eyes.

'What ever do you mean?' asked Mycroft with sinking feeling in his stomach.

'You. In love. With him.' Sherlock half snarled before looking up, scowling and turning to walk in the opposite direction, long coat billowing theatrically behind him. Mycroft turned to see who had made Sherlock react in such a way, half dreading what he would see. And of course it was him. Was it really that obvious that Mycroft was in love with him? Was it only Sherlock who had noticed the pathetic excuses he made to ensure he was around the man, even when he had no need to be? Or the way he would stare at him when he thought no one was looking? Or the way he smiled for just a second too long after reading a text from him, or saying goodbye to him? Mycroft was furious at himself. He should have known better than to make his feelings so obvious.

'What's wrong with him?' asked Gregory, coming to stand beside Mycroft, looking at the swiftly retreating figure of the consulting detective.

'When it comes to my brother, I'm afraid we can only guess,' Mycroft replied coolly, feigning indifference by taking out his mobile and looking at it rather than the detective inspector.

Gregory sighed. 'Sometimes I wonder why I bother risking my job letting him in here if he's going to be so bloody difficult.'

Mycroft looked up at Gregory, fighting a smile. 'When has he ever been anything else?'

They looked at each other for longer than was really appropriate and Mycroft realised how stupid he had been. How had he allowed himself to develop feelings for someone? Let alone someone so ordinary? Obviously he had been too lenient with himself. Somehow he would have to force these feelings into the part of his mind where they would be buried and changed, and rendered useless. He could not allow them to take over his life. He would isolate himself from this man, this man that had come to mean so much to him. This man, this seemingly ordinary man that occupied the majority of his waking thoughts.

Mycroft dropped his eyes.

'Are we still on for tonight then?' Gregory asked.

'I'm afraid something of great importance needs my attention.' Mycroft replied rather harshly, still not looking at him.

'Oh, right. Maybe later then, yeah?' Gregory asked. Mycroft could hear the disappointment in his voice and tried not to think about what that could mean.

'I shall be in contact,' he replied. 'No I won't' he thought. He had to cut the Detective Inspector out of his life for as long as it took to get rid of these stupid feelings.

Mycroft turned away and left, feeling horrendously rude and selfish. 'But it's for the best' he kept reminding himself. Just as he was about to leave the crime scene to get into his car, he gave in to temptation and glanced behind him to see the DI staring after him. Mycroft sighed. Why on earth had this happened to him?


	2. Chapter 2

It took Greg a long time to realise that he was unhappy. He knew his life was nothing special, he had given up most of his dreams a long time ago. But that was okay. Sure, hiding who he was from the world and denying his feelings was beginning to take its toll on him, but that was okay too. As long as no one found out, did it really matter?

When he was fourteen years old he got his first inclination that he wasn't quite 'normal'. Whatever the fuck that was. While his mates talked about girls with increased frequency as they grew older, he remained disinterested. But he went along with it anyway. He would snog girls at parties, hold their hands at school, and eventually sleep with them while their parents were at work. He never understood their appeal though, and why exactly his friends were losing their heads over them. By sixteen, he had a very melancholy way of looking at his life. He was certain, absolutely certain that he would never find anyone he loved, and that he would be alone forever.

Oh Christ, he was wrong. He was seventeen, at somebody's house drinking beer that someone's brother had bought. Greg was in the garden with some mates having a smoke, when he saw him. He walked out the back door and angels started singing, a heavenly light shone down on his face and he stared deep into Greg's eyes and asked if he would like to take him to bed. Well. It was almost like that. He asked Greg for a lighter and their hands touched and Greg nearly exploded because he had the most beautiful face but ohfuck he's a boy. A boy! At the time Greg didn't actually spend too much time thinking about what that meant about his sexuality because he was too busy thinking about how he could get this perfect specimen of a man to have sex with him. His name was Matthew and Greg eventually discovered he was exceptionally boring and vain, and he liked terrible music. Before he realised how utterly wrong this boy was for him though, he believed himself to be completely in love with him. It was so exciting and heart breaking and wonderful to be in love with a boy, no, to be in love with anyone at all, that Greg forgot all the bad things about him. Greg truly believed that Matthew loved him back until he found him in his car with some girl and he told him he had just been with him for an easy fuck.

Fast forward sixteen years and Matthew was in prison for drug dealing and Greg had long since realised that being gay was not normal. Gays didn't have it easy. He saw evidence of that almost everywhere he went; gays getting their homes vandalized, gays getting attacked at clubs, gays getting murdered simply because they refused to lie about who they really were. Greg wasn't afraid to lie though, and so, he was safe. But miserable. It was really only a matter of time before his wife left him. They had married without really knowing each other and now both of them were stuck in a relationship that was going nowhere. He didn't need Sherlock to tell him that his wife was being unfaithful; she didn't bother trying to cover it up. He didn't blame her. They ate dinner together in silence, he made flimsy excuses to be away from the house and they hadn't had sex in months. Living a life that brought him no happiness and required him to hide part of his identity from the world was suffocating Greg.

Thank god for Mycroft.

Greg had befriended Mycroft after realising that for as long as he associated with Sherlock, he would be forced to associate with Mycroft too. Honestly, it was nice to have someone to bitch about Sherlock to. The other officers talked about him like he was the dirt on the bottom of their shoes. Greg had come to care about Sherlock, but understandably needed someone to talk to when

Sherlock set fire to his curtains or left decomposing body parts in the fridge ('there's no need to get so upset Lestrade, it's for a case! Why do you have to be such an idiot?') or generally showed no regard for anyone but himself. Mostly, it was nice to have someone to talk to besides Sherlock or his wife, whom, honestly, he hardly spoke to anyway.

Mycroft was complicated. To the general public, Prime Ministers, Presidents and various other people of importance, Mycroft Holmes was an enigmatic, cold, unfeeling machine. The persona that Mycroft wore in public was carefully cultivated to strike fear into grown men and to ensure that everyone knew he held a great amount of power.

But Greg liked to think that he knew the real Mycroft. The off-duty Mycroft. He was fiercely loyal to those he cared about, but God forbid he ever actually ever let you know that he cared for you. He was extremely self-critical and hardworking, pushing himself to inhuman lengths to ensure that a job was done to perfection. He also had a wicked sense of humour and a sharp tongue, which made you glad you were on his side and not against him. He could be frightening; like his brother he missed absolutely nothing, and used this ability to assert he power. But to Greg, he was a friend. One of the best he had ever had.


End file.
